


Damaged but not beyond repair

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Series: Staking a claim [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: Alex only wants to be left alone after the death of his son, but Lincoln is determined to offer him his support, whether he wants it or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this fic for the readers who were kind enough to leave a comment/kudos on Bait, and for all the Linc/Alex fans out there. :)

Lincoln both hated the night and longed for it at the same time. He despised the repetitiveness of it, the forced camaraderie that came from sharing such close sleeping quarters with a bunch of men. But without the bullshit smiles and well wishes for a good night’s sleep, he doubted that any of them would have had the guts to close their eyes at night. Because one does not close his eyes in the company of enemies, no matter how snug their shared accommodations tended to be. On the other hand, he welcomed the anonymous veil of darkness that settled on the individual faces of the men sleeping in the cots on either side of him. Not being able to see them helped him focus on remaining neutral and level-headed, because he didn’t honestly trust any of them. At least, most of them.

 

Every night was the same as the last was and the next would be. First, the tiny, cramped, elevated space covering what was passing off as the second floor of the warehouse would fill with mild chatter as the men filed in one by one, having finished with their nightly routine in the public restroom downstairs. Of course Lincoln took part in the light banter, not wanting to be viewed as a threat, but keeping his thoughts and feelings separate from his words because he didn’t want to get sucked into the trap of caring for any of them either. The bulk of the conversation would lean heavily towards either Sucre’s dreams of being reunited with his girlfriend and child, or Brad’s reminiscent adventures of the past, with Lincoln commenting every now and then – or grunting encouragingly – to show that he was listening. And, without fail, Roland the resident prick would insert himself into the middle of the conversation, talking above them and bragging about his nightly conquests and exceptional hacking skills. Lincoln didn’t know if any of the others believed that load of crap, that Roland was actually capable of wooing a woman into his bed. Unless money was involved, Lincoln couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of woman would be willing to sleep with that ingratiating asshole.

 

After a few minutes of being shut out of the conversation, Roland would usually give up and drop down onto his cot near the steel staircase that led to the storage area downstairs. Brad would soon follow him, claiming that he hadn’t slept a wink the night before and needed to compensate for it, when Lincoln knew for a fact that there hadn’t been one night in the past two weeks that the ex-prison guardsman hadn’t snored his way through. And on Lincoln’s other side, Sucre would lie down on his back with his arms folded behind his head and just smile. And that would be the way he fell asleep and the way he woke up in the morning. The only person Lincoln heard nothing from was Alex.

 

When they’d first been coerced into working for Agent Don Self, Lincoln had imagined that they would be set up someplace sweet, like a condominium in the center of town, or a luxurious room belonging to one of the more esteemed hotels down in the shopping district. He hadn’t expected to be holed up in some shitty warehouse that smelled of old paint varnish, gasoline, and dust from centuries gone by. He remembered when he’d first entered the shared sleeping area and spotted the child sized cots lined up along the back railing in a utilitarian fashion. He had automatically glanced at Alex, wondering if the ex-FBI Agent was as bothered by their accommodations as he was. He’d been pleasantly surprised to note the sense of rising claustrophobia that Alex had practically radiated with as he turned to eye the boathouse down below that was visible from the top of the staircase. But Michael and Sara had already claimed the boathouse for their own, so Alex was stuck with the rest of them, whether he liked it or not. As much as Lincoln had hated Alex at that time – or _thought_ he had hated Alex – he hadn’t been able to help but feel just a twinge of protectiveness over him when he’d noticed how quickly Alex stole the cot by the far wall. At the time he’d suspected that Alex was probably afraid of turning his back to any of them in his sleep, but a little bit later he’d learned that the ex-agent just really wanted to be left alone to his private misery.

 

Lincoln lay in bed and listened, trying not to hold Sucre’s good nature against him. Because if it hadn’t been for the Puerto Rican’s overbearing need to ensure that all his comrades were in good spirits, Sucre wouldn’t have chosen to hop onto the cot next to Alex, effectively cutting Lincoln off from him. Why did that bother Lincoln so damn much? Well, for starters, it made it more difficult for him to get to Alex when he started to struggle in his sleep and then whimper. The ex-agent was always having nightmares and often awoke in the wee hours of the morning spooked and upset. And he would not go back to sleep after having woken up in that state, which made him a liability if he was needed on a mission that required fast reflexes and reliable judgment.  

 

After a few moments of hearing nothing but Brad’s snoring, Roland’s girlish giggles, and Sucre’s amorous chanting, Lincoln heard what he’d been listening for. Alex was making small noises in his sleep again, nearly inaudible to the casual listener, but quite loud and disturbing to Lincoln. Because Lincoln knew that the source of Alex’s distress could be only one of two things – either he was reliving the death of his son, or he was suffering from the residual trauma that his abusive father had left him with. Although everyone was well aware of the former, Lincoln was probably the only one who knew about the latter. No one else had been interested enough in Alex to go snooping through his rather bulky personnel files that Self had failed to keep a close eye on.

 

Quietly dropping his legs over the edge of the cot, Lincoln pulled the one blanket off of his bed and slowly maneuvered around Sucre’s cot to get to Alex’s. Sure enough, the ex-agent was huddled inside his one flimsy sheet and begrudged blanket, shivering from the chilly air that hung inside the warehouse like a blanket of death. There were no power outlets in the sleeping area because there was no electrical wiring, so they couldn’t plug in an electric heater to warm up the room. And gas was out of the question because of how tight the confines of their shared bedroom was. Someone or something would be up in flames before the night was over, that was for sure. But while the rest of the men had either the muscles or meat to spare for insulation – except for Roland and nobody gave a shit about him – Alex lacked both and was left trying to make it through yet another cold and merciless night – alone. For some profound reason, Lincoln found that he couldn’t bear the thought of Alex lying there all abandoned and neglected, especially not with the knowledge that he could make a difference.

 

Very cautiously, Lincoln draped his blanket on top of the one that Alex was already wrapped up in, and slowly sat on the edge of the cot, trying not to shift the mattress too much with his additional weight. It never turned out to be a problem because the stuffed length of plywood that made up the mattress was so unbelievably stiff and unyielding. Hesitating for a moment, as he usually did when he feared that Alex would wake up to catch him there, Lincoln just observed the ex-agent’s sleeping face. Even in the depths of sleep Alex looked frightened and damaged. He was curled up defensively with his back to the wall and his fist up against his mouth. Perhaps he knew that he made noises in his sleep and was doing his best to prevent anyone from overhearing them. But Lincoln’s extended stay in solitary confinement had honed his senses, making his hearing extremely sensitive to nearby threats, and apparently also Alex’s unspoken cries for help.

 

Without thinking too much about it, Lincoln covered Alex’s fist with his hand and gently pulled it away from his mouth. He’d done this enough times to know that he could get away with it. Maybe Alex had subconsciously grown accustomed to his presence because Lincoln pressed the palm of his other hand to the ex-agent’s cheek next, drawing it along his face in a soft caress. And almost immediately, the whimpers stopped, as he knew they would. Lincoln continued to caress Alex, marveling at how vulnerable he looked in his sleep. And how captivating his facial features were, even when those extraordinarily dynamic blue eyes were not staring into his soul.

 

Lincoln tended to be drawn to women more often than men because of his all-encompassing need to play the chauvinistic hero and fly-by-night romancer. He enjoyed playing rough and keeping his body in optimum street-brawler-like condition, but he had no desire to hook up with someone who shared his zest for macho activities. He didn’t want someone who was going to compete with him, or who didn’t _need_ him in the way that he wanted to be needed. That’s why he found Alex so attractive and alluring. The ex-agent was very nice to look at, neither overly masculine nor effeminate, because both of those types turned Lincoln off. What really lured Lincoln in was how intelligent and resourceful Alex was, along with his strangely angular good looks, and how fragile and sensitive he was on the inside. He needed Lincoln like no one else did and, if Lincoln nurtured their _friendship_ in the right way, Alex might also realize that they could work well together.

 

After a while, Lincoln moved his hand to Alex’s short brown hair, petting him as he would a stray dog. That was the only way Lincoln knew how to be affectionate because he’d spent far too many years on the streets getting high, screwing around, and just plain wrecking his life. When he touched something, or someone, he had to be extra careful not to inflict any damage. With animals it was just easier to resist the urge to intentionally hurt them or push them away in order to protect himself from getting hurt.

 

Gradually, the tension began to seep out of Alex’s body, allowing him to relax and settle into a deeper, more nourishing stage of sleep. And this was Lincoln’s cue to go back to his own cot and leave Alex to enjoy a few hours of unharassed dreams. Only, he couldn’t pull his right hand back because Alex had sleepily latched onto it and was now hugging it close to his chest.

 

 _Shit! Fucking idiot!_ Lincoln internally swore at his own stupidity and tugged at his hand in a panic. But Alex would not let go. If anything, the threat of losing that warm link to another human being had made Alex grab on even tighter. The only way he was getting his hand back was by either waking Alex up or waiting until the ex-agent lost his grip. Well, he couldn’t wake Alex up because that would be counterproductive and exceptionally damning for Lincoln’s reputation. And he had no idea when – or _if_ – Alex’s grip would falter, so he was stuck sitting there, sweating over his predicament. Why had he put his hand so close to Alex’s in the first place? Touching his face should have been adequate stimulation for the both of them. But no, he had to make the physical contact even more intimate by holding the ex-agent’s hand in his own. _Of all the stupid--._ Lincoln paused when he looked at Alex’s face. He looked so peaceful, so _beautiful_ lying there like that that Lincoln’s possessive streak really began to flare up. So what if he lost a few hours of sleep and the circulation in his right hand? It was more than worth it to share this secret intimacy with this beautiful man that he longed to claim for his own.

 

For two whole hours, Alex did not move a muscle, content to hold onto Lincoln’s hand for a while, until he nuzzled it with the side of his face. The sight of the man he was so hopelessly attracted to rubbing his face against the rough knuckles of Lincoln’s hand made him all the more endearing. And even more desirable. But as soon as Alex shifted in his sleep, Lincoln yanked his hand back and breathed a sigh of relief. He would get the chance to confess his feelings later, at a more mutually appropriate time.

 

* * *

 

While the night before had been awfully pleasant and stress-free for Alex – for reasons unknown to him – tonight was fraught with personal torment and insomnia. One of the criminals that they’d crossed paths with earlier in the afternoon had been a suspected murderer – of children. Although the corrupt politician’s involvement in several child abuse cases and unsolved murder mysteries continued to raise alarms within the FBI, the complete lack of evidence prevented anyone from charging or arresting him.

 

At first sight, Alex had abhorred the crooked, poor excuse for a politician. He knew what a man capable of child abuse looked and acted like, with much of that surety coming from pure instinct, and had felt compelled to bring him down. But that hadn’t been part of the mission, and Michael, although also a child abuse survivor, had insisted that without any proof they had no justification for attacking a mere pawn on a playing board with much more coveted targets. They were after bigger game, after all, and one sadistic politician in a midst of criminals wasn’t worth their time, or worth the risk.

 

None of the others knew that Alex had been abused and tormented as a child, so they were unaware of how personally he had taken first the refusal to aid him in apprehending the sick bastard, and then the accidental run-in that he’d had with the man in the elevator. It had been completely unintentional. Alex had been on the verge of leaving the building after having acquired the artifact that he’d been sent in to retrieve, and Mr. Harris had been on his way in. They’d collided inside the elevator doors as they were opening on the ground floor and something about Alex had apparently set off an alarm in the older man’s head. The next thing he knew he was being shoved back into the elevator as the man tried to restrain him. But he’d resisted, being forced to defend himself as Mr. Harris brutally struck his arms and head, trying to get a fatal blow in. Alex had naturally fought back, getting in a few punches and kicks of his own, but it had been the pattern that had screwed him over. That same nauseating pattern of being struck over and over again, until his arms grew too bruised and tired to block what was to come next. And suddenly it wasn’t Mr. Harris who had knocked him to the floor in order to cruelly beat on him – it was his father. The man who had demanded sole custody of him when his parents had divorced. The same man who had spent many tireless nights hitting him and throwing him into various pieces of furniture, sending him first to the family physician’s office for serious sprains and a dislocated shoulder. And later on to the hospital for a broken ankle and a concussion that had led to severe headaches and temporary amnesia.

 

Alex had dropped his arms as a painful flashback from his childhood temporarily clouded his vision. And Mr. Harris had taken advantage of his temporary lapse, moving in closer to finish him off. Luckily for Alex, he hadn’t been subjected to any permanently damaging injuries due to Lincoln’s timely interference.

 

One minute Alex had been sprawled on the floor of the elevator with his arms held out, shielding his face in trepidation, and the next he was being hauled to his feet by the powerful arm that wrapped around his torso.

 

“ _Get out of here,”_ Lincoln had commanded firmly, pushing Alex in the direction of the rear exit as soon as he was able to stand again, albeit unsteadily. Alex had been reeling with pain and confusion, not knowing when Lincoln had arrived or what had become of Mr. Harris. And when Alex had glanced back at the elevator questioningly, seeing a shoeless foot protruding from it at an awkward angle, he didn’t have to ask to know what his teammate had done. _“Go!”_ Lincoln had ordered more savagely upon noticing Alex’s hesitation, glaring at him when he continued to linger near the crime scene.

 

And so Alex had fled the building with a handful of unanswered questions in his mind. What had happened in the elevator? Had he blacked out? For how long? Had Lincoln killed Mr. Harris – or was he going to now that Alex was out of the way? And why had Lincoln come to his aid at all?

 

“Here,” came an abrupt voice from behind Alex just as a paper bag was shoved up against his chest, forcing him to grab onto it before it dropped onto the pier, or into the water. Clutching the paper bag nervously, he whirled around to catch Lincoln standing behind him with an identical paper bag held up to his mouth. The big muscular brute just stood there chewing on something and glaring out at the boats that were docked nearby, not having had the decency to announce his presence or identify what he had practically whacked Alex with.

 

“Linc…,” Alex half-greeted, half-questioned warily. “What is this?”

 

“Your dinner,” Lincoln replied evenly.

 

 _My dinner?_ For one thing, Lincoln seemed to have forgotten that it was pitch black out on the pier, making it impossible for Alex to identify what his _dinner_ was. And for another, Alex had absolutely no appetite, nor the desire to indulge himself in unsolicited food when there were so many revolting childhood memories threatening to upset his stomach. And anyway it was well past midnight, not the ideal time for challenging his digestive system. “I appreciate the thought, but--.” Alex passed the bag back to Lincoln, but instead of taking it, the ex-convict knocked it out of his face and sat down on the wooden crate next to him.

 

“It’s a sub – some kind of turkey shit on rye. You didn’t eat the pizza that Sucre ordered so you’re gonna eat that, like it or not.”

 

Was Lincoln threatening him over a sandwich? Alex was in no mood to put up with anyone telling him what to do or how to act. And he hadn’t even invited Lincoln to sit down either. What was the ex-con playing at? He wanted to be left alone. He _always_ wanted to be left alone. Why was it that Lincoln appeared to be the only member of their little group of miscreants who didn’t understand what _leave me the hell alone_ meant? “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Alex was on the verge of placing the sub on the crate between them when Lincoln spoke to him in a much softer tone.

 

“If you don’t get your act together, the next time you get wailed on might end with you in the emergency room, or dead. So put on some weight and open your eyes. I can’t watch you 24/7.”

 

Alex squinted at Lincoln in the dark, trying to gauge his expression and his intentions. But the piercing look that Lincoln sent back at him had Alex ducking his head and dropping his gaze like a cowering mouse. He didn’t know why Lincoln had such a strong effect on him, but in that man’s company Alex had a difficult time concentrating and maintaining a strong resolve. Not knowing what else to do, Alex nervously reached into the paper bag and pulled out the sub, immediately hating himself for the hungry rumbling that his traitorous stomach made. And with Lincoln’s full attention on him, he had no choice but to take a bite of the sub and make a show out of eating it. It tasted damningly _good_ , perhaps the only substantial food that he’d eaten since yesterday morning, or the night before that. But the more he chewed it, trying to separate the taste of the turkey meat from the bacon that was entwined around it, the more difficult it became to enjoy it. Because his thoughts automatically drifted back to his son Cameron and how much his innocent boy had loved bacon. Bacon and eggs. Bacon on his hamburger. Or bacon on the side of a plateful of pancakes. What gave Alex the right to sit there eating something that tasted so deliciously comforting when his boy was buried six feet under, never to partake in another worldly meal ever again?

 

Suddenly the turkey sub tasted like chalky sawdust, making it difficult to swallow past the lump in Alex’s throat. And his vision blurred with a well of tears that rained down onto his hands and the sub that he held onto the moment he blinked.

 

“Shit, Alex…” Lincoln cursed quietly, reaching over to take the sub from Alex’s trembling hands and replace it with a plastic cup that was wet with condensation. “Drink it,” he urged as soon as he’d puffed up the end of the straw that he’d flattened with his teeth marks.

 

Not wanting to choke on the food that he couldn’t get down his throat, Alex put the straw to his lips and took a sip of whatever beverage Lincoln had been gulping down. It turned out to be some kind of flavored herbal tea and tasted quite nasty in an artificial sort of way. But it was cold and refreshing, so Alex drank as much as he needed to cleanse his throat, and then passed it back. As soon as it was out of his hands, Alex wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and sat there silently. Although he kept complete control over his voice, he couldn’t do anything to quell the nervous way his fingers continued to tremble or the shivers that ran through his entire body, chilling him further.

 

Alex stiffened all over when Lincoln shifted closer to him, pressing the full length of his body up against his side, and wrapped an arm around him. The sudden physical contact with another warm body startled and confused him. He had been so adamant over avoiding all interactions with his other teammates that he was immediately overwhelmed by such a brash invasion of his personal space. He wanted to shove Lincoln off, to shout at him for his insensitive attitude, and for giving him that stupid sub that he hadn’t wanted to eat. But he couldn’t. Lincoln was so warm and solid, and _real_ , that Alex lacked the resolve to push him away. There was something almost familiar about his touch, something that Alex felt he should remember, but couldn’t. Not knowing what to say or how to react to the comfort that Lincoln was willing to provide him with, Alex just sat there timidly, waiting for the bigger man to speak.

 

“You’re not gonna bolt?” Lincoln asked, sounding amazed while phrasing it like a rhetorical question. “Good.” And then his arm tightened around Alex, drawing the ex-agent back against his muscular chest, his other arm coming around to complete the circular vise around him. After Alex was securely in his embrace, he rested his chin in Alex’s hair and inhaled deeply. Lincoln made no effort to conceal the fact that he was sniffing the ex-agent’s hair and skin, because he always did as he damn well pleased. So long as Alex didn’t attempt to escape from him, he would do whatever he wanted with the slender man in his arms as well.

 

Alex was too afraid to speak so he tried to concentrate on how he felt about Lincoln holding him in such an intimate manner. The last time anyone had held onto him so tenderly, he’d been broken up over the loss of his son. But that had been his ex-wife trying to give him the courage to keep going until he could take down the bastard who had robbed his little boy of the long and bright future that he’d had ahead of him. This was different. Lincoln was not trying to encourage him or spur him on. The bulky, tattooed arms that were locked around him were making a possessive statement. And they weren’t just embracing him. Lincoln’s large hands were also rubbing his arms, either to warm him up or console him. Alex had spent half his lifetime profiling criminals so he considered himself an expert on body language, gestures, and the way one human touched another. There was so much more to Lincoln’s actions than the mere concern for one of his teammates. This was personal for Lincoln. But he couldn’t possibly…

 

“Close your eyes,” Lincoln said, shattering the silence with the commanding tone that he spoke with.

 

“What? No… Lincoln, what is _this_?” There was no way Alex was going to close his eyes and let his guard down, no matter how safe and secure he felt in the ex-con’s arms.

 

“Just do it.” Lincoln was a man of very few words, except when someone riled him up, and then he was like a raging bull on steroids. But when he did speak, he had no trouble getting his point – or threats – across.

 

If Lincoln wanted to, he could end Alex right then and there. Alex was in no shape, either physically or mentally, to defend himself. But the way that Lincoln brushed his cheek up against Alex’s clearly indicated that no harm would come to him tonight. At least not while he was being protected by this incredibly simple, yet emotionally complicated man. So, not knowing what else to do, Alex humored Lincoln by closing his eyes.

 

For a long time, nothing changed. Lincoln continued to hold Alex close, and Alex continued to struggle with his acceptance of the way he felt in that powerful man’s embrace. The wind began to pick up along the pier, ruffling Alex’s short hair and chilling the tips of his ears, but the rest of him was comfortably warm thanks to Lincoln. Peacefully, blissfully warm.

 

* * *

 

A considerable time later, Alex abruptly jerked awake and gauged his surroundings worriedly. He’d been resting his head against Lincoln’s chest, and Lincoln had been resting his cheek on Alex’s head. It had been comfortable and sweet, and over far too soon.

 

“I’m still here,” Lincoln reassured Alex when the slender man tensed up in his arms, groggily searching for something. Apparently he’d been searching for Lincoln because he relaxed again as soon as he heard those gruffly spoken words.

 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep,” Alex apologized in embarrassment, probably assuming that he’d gone and offended his _host_ with his sleepy behavior.

 

“Yeah. That was the whole point,” Lincoln said with mild amusement. Although he would’ve preferred it if Alex had managed to stomach the sub that he’d bought before falling asleep, the end result was still reasonably acceptable. He’d succeeded in coaxing Alex into getting four or five hours of untroubled rest, free from the stifling sleeping quarters that the other three men clogged up with their overbearing personalities. It wasn’t that they were bad people. Lincoln doubted that Sucre had an evil bone in his entire body, and Brad was a reformed man. It was just that Alex needed to be treated with a lot of sensitivity, and that meant getting him out of that cramped atmosphere as much as possible.

 

“You wanted me to fall asleep?” Alex questioned in bewilderment.

 

“You needed it.” It was still relatively dark outside, but there were now gradient levels of grays mixed in with the inky blackness of the sky. In another hour there would be a sunrise and Lincoln was pretty damn determined to still be holding onto Alex at that time. Alex was now warm and relaxed in his arms, and he smelled nice. Lincoln had spent the better part of the night nuzzling and sniffing at Alex’s skin and hair, trying to determine what it was he was smelling. All the men, and Sara, shared the same cheap bottle of shampoo that had been lying in the public shower when they’d arrived, so Alex had to be washing his hair with it. But it smelled different on him somehow. And his skin smelled even more pleasant, faintly sweet but entirely fresh, indicating that he was definitely not using that communal bar of soap that was covered in someone’s nasty pubic hairs. If Lincoln hadn’t been working on mastering his restraint, he would’ve given into his desire to lick and taste Alex. Because that seemed to be the only way he was going to be able to figure out what he smelled like.

 

“Linc…” Alex tugged at the arms around him and tried to adjust his position. “The crate is digging into my thigh,” he complained when Lincoln would not release him.

 

“And it’s digging into my ass,” Lincoln snickered. “Which do you think is worse?”

 

“Can I just…?”

 

“I’m not letting you go,” Lincoln stated firmly, making his intentions perfectly clear right then and there. There was no way in hell he was going to let Alex escape before they cleared up what was going on between them. Or what he _wanted_ to be going on between them. He did relax his grip a fraction, allowing Alex to get his legs up onto the crate so that he could sit cross legged on it. Which didn’t seem to be anymore comfortable, but Alex didn’t complain again, nor did he give any indication that he wanted to be let go, and that pleased Lincoln greatly. In fact, the next words out of Alex’s mouth both shocked and turned Lincoln on.

 

“Linc, what is that minty pine smell?”

 

That Alex was interested in what he smelled like really got Lincoln’s blood flowing. It could have been an innocent question, but Lincoln rarely took inquiries into his personal scent as anything innocent or peripheral. “Extra strong deodorant,” he informed Alex without any embellishments. “You like it?” He didn’t need to be able to see the ex-agent’s face to know that Alex had started to blush.

 

“It was just a question,” Alex said defensively, completely off balance in this unfamiliar territory that Lincoln had thrown him into.

 

“And I asked you a question,” Lincoln said in his no-bullshit tone. “Do you like it?”

 

For several heartbeats, Alex said absolutely nothing. It was as if he were trying to order the words inside his head, or something like that, because he began to fidget. And he always did that when he was concentrating hard on something, or trying to avoid thinking about anything at all. “It’s _comforting_ ,” Alex finally confessed, sounding incredibly vulnerable as he put his feelings into words. “And familiar. But I don’t know why it would be familiar.”

 

“Maybe because you spent the last few nights breathing it in as I sat on your bed,” Lincoln suggested casually. If he’d been a poetic man, he might’ve phrased it a bit more delicately. Unfortunately for Alex, he had very little poetry and even less tact to offer him. But what he did have to offer Alex was in sore need of, and that was kindness and affection. Lincoln had many years of lost opportunities and failed relationships that he regretted. Things that he could have done or lovers that he should have tried harder with. And the result of all those sour memories was a well of unused emotions that was overflowing inside of him, just dying to be directed at the next companion that he sought to be with. And there was no one that he longed to be with more than Alex Mahone. “I like watching you sleep,” he added, not giving a shit that he sounded like some perverse stalker. To Lincoln, admitting that he lurked near Alex’s bedside in the middle of the night sounded romantic to his own ears.

 

“You sat on my bed and watched me sleep?” Alex repeated incredulously.

 

Lincoln ignored the emotion in Alex’s tone and read into his unspoken fears. The ex-agent wasn’t upset because Lincoln had been hovering over him during the night, rather he was frightened of his own weakness because he hadn’t sensed the potential danger so close to him. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you,” he said in an attempt to placate Alex before he could become unreasonable. “You woke up when Brad got too close, so I’m sure that you’re just really selective in your sleep.” Pushing that topic aside, Lincoln dove into what he really wanted to get off of his chest. But before he did, he pulled back a bit so that he could look into Alex’s face. As he’d suspected, Alex’s face was quite flushed, and it took a while to get those deep blue eyes to focus on him. “Let’s get the bullshit out of the way,” he began rudely, not caring that the more he spoke, the more unsettled Alex became. “I like you, Alex, in a totally unprofessional way. Seeing as how you trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, you probably like me back. So unless you contradict me, I’m gonna assume that you belong to me now. And that means that I’m gonna want to do more than just hold you.” Lincoln watched those wispy eyebrows knit together in angst-ridden turmoil as the intense blue stare that he’d been pinned with suddenly found another target to focus on.

 

Patience was not something that Lincoln was particularly gifted with. He hated not getting an answer to one of his questions immediately. And he loathed the expression _I’ll get back to you_ because that meant more waiting. But he was more than willing to give Alex the time to contemplate what it would mean to be with him. Because he was confident that regardless of how fragile Alex’s emotional state was, the ex-agent was still capable of choosing his own happiness over solitude and despair. Besides, Alex was now leaning against him again, but this time his ear was pressed up against where Lincoln knew his heart to be. That was probably all the answer he needed, but he waited for the verbal confirmation just to make it official.

 

“I don’t know why, but I do trust you, Lincoln. And I like you… probably in the same way as you like me. But I don’t know if I can feel what you want me to.”

 

“Because you think you’re broken inside,” Lincoln said what Alex could not. “Let’s find out.” Not giving Alex the chance to take back his words, Lincoln crawled on top of him, pushing him down onto the crates, flat on his back.

 

“Linc, w—wait… I didn’t mean that I wanted to--.”

 

Lincoln shut Alex up by pressing their lips together, harshly at first because he became overly aggressive when forced to subdue his emotions for such a long length of time. Predictably, Alex would not let him in, so Lincoln patted down the crate at his side until he found one of Alex’s trembling hands and linked their fingers together, grasping the ex-agent tightly until the nervous vibrations stopped. Only then did Alex begin to calm down, accepting the close-mouthed kiss with his heart beating rapidly beneath Lincoln’s chest. Lincoln leaned down onto Alex harder, his knees on either side of the slender man’s hips aching from where they were resting on uneven slats of wood. But he didn’t care about the pain. The only thing he was interested in was gaining access to that warm mouth in order to taste what he’d been depriving himself of for weeks. He couldn’t remember ever waiting so long to make the move on someone he was attracted to.

 

When Alex slowly parted his lips to invite Lincoln in, the ex-con thrust his tongue inside without hesitation. Alex made a startled sound, which turned into a warm moan when Lincoln slid his tongue over Alex’s, licking him, and then tasting him, before angling his mouth to kiss him deeper. And sure enough, Alex was well worth the wait. He was timid at first, probably rusty from remaining celibate for who knows how long, and hopefully untainted from his stay in Sona. Though Lincoln found it impossible to believe that a man as attractive as Alex hadn’t been regularly propositioned in such a place. But after a bit of guidance, Alex was kissing Lincoln back with just a hint of desperation. If Alex seriously believed that he needed to worry about this being a one-time arrangement, he was in for one hell of a shock. Lincoln might have some communication issues, as well as aggression problems, but he was entirely loyal. And with a kiss like that, he would not be letting go of Alex anytime soon.

 

Lincoln stroked the side of Alex’s face, his eyes open to slits to observe the ex-agent’s pleasure-suffused expression. Alex’s eyes were tightly shut as he fully immersed himself in the kiss, his long eyelashes pale and fair against the patches of crimson on his high cheekbones. Lincoln would most definitely not grow tired of admiring such a beautiful face, especially now that he knew how to paint it with pleasurable emotions. After a short intake of breath, Lincoln returned to kissing Alex gentler and slower, showing him that he was capable of tenderness alongside his need to dominate and overpower. “You like this?” Lincoln asked, his voice rough with passion as he sucked Alex’s bottom lip into his mouth and then grazed it with his teeth, the stubble of his goatee scraping against the ex-agent’s jaw.

 

“Mmph,” Alex’s response was muffled when Lincoln kissed him again, not really interested in his answer anyway.

 

Unable to control himself, Lincoln kissed Alex rougher again, earning himself some scratch marks on the back of his neck and then on his head as Alex tried to find something to grab onto with his free hand. Lincoln’s closely shaved head provided nothing for Alex to grip, so those slender fingers tugged on the collar of his white t-shirt instead. When Lincoln let Alex up for air once more, he eyed the exposed skin above the scooped neck of the ex-agent’s gray cardigan. He longed to kiss him there and then mark him, so that everyone would know who he belonged to. Which was pretty foolish because it wasn’t like anyone gave a shit about what belonged to Lincoln or who Alex allowed himself to be seduced by.

 

“Linc?” Alex tried to pull Lincoln back down for another kiss – a kiss that he now seemed to hunger for, much to Lincoln’s satisfaction.

 

“You belong to me, Alex,” Lincoln said heatedly as he pushed his arm down onto Alex’s chest, pinning him onto the crates, and gave into his more predatory desires. He licked and kissed at Alex’s throat and neck, growling when the slender man beneath him began to muffle his moans with the back of his hand. “No. I want to listen to you.” He pushed Alex’s hand away and went back to what he’d been doing, wanting to hear the ex-agent fall to pieces as he alternated between fiercely sucking on the exposed flesh of Alex’s neck, and sensuously biting him. It didn’t take long for Alex’s moans to turn into overstimulated whimpers, or for Lincoln’s neck and shoulders to become a human scratching post. Once Lincoln was done with his territorial behavior, he released Alex to just gaze down at him. He grinned when those aroused blue eyes gazed up at him in return, resonating with a drowsy warmth that hadn’t been there before. And now that the sun was beginning to rise, Alex was filled with a lot more vibrant colors than he had been when they’d been enshrouded in darkness. He looked healthier and more alive than he had before Lincoln had made a move on him, and that reassured him that his new love interest was not beyond repair.

 

Leaning back a bit, Lincoln swore as his kneecaps creaked and the pain escalated somewhat. The next time they would be doing this somewhere more comfortable, like maybe the backseat of the car or a cheap hotel.

 

“Linc, can you help me up?” Alex also looked quite stiff and achy, the source of his pain revealed when Lincoln wrapped an arm around him to lift him up and off of the crates. Apparently one of those lopsided wooden slats had been chafing Alex’s lower back and another had been digging into his shoulder blades.

 

“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t know.” Lincoln tenderly rubbed Alex’s sore back and then held him tightly. “When we go back inside, we can pretend that we’re nothing but partners again,” he explained carefully. “But we’re not. I meant what I said. You’re more important to me than anyone else in there. So if anyone tries to hassle you, Self included, you come to me before you consider disappearing. Because if I have to come looking for you… It’s just better that it doesn’t come to that.”

 

“Okay, I promise that I won’t disappear,” Alex said solemnly, obviously understanding how much he meant to Lincoln. “Thank you, Lincoln.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For giving me something new to live for,” Alex sighed, content to just remain in Lincoln’s arms and watch the sun come up with him.    


End file.
